Just In Time
by HugePedlar
Summary: Written at the end of Season One. The clue is in the title. That's all I'm saying.... (Oh alright - it's got time travel in it.) *Complete*
1. Just In Time

**Just in Time.**

"Be careful with that."  Hugh Jameson was concerned about his colleague, Justin Webb. He had brains, but they were coupled with a maverick streak that made Jameson uneasy. Perhaps he'd have a word with Hamilton tomorrow. It was bad enough working on such a highly sensitive piece of apparatus without a loose cannon like Webb playing about.

It was late. He and Webb were in the basement preparing the accelerator for its test run tomorrow. Their job was made somewhat difficult by Hamilton's refusal to tell them the purpose of the machine. As a particle physicist, Jameson was qualified to maintain and service such a device, and ordinarily he would have had a stab at guessing its function. Yet this machine used a power source that produced more energy than a generator the size of the basement could manage, and the accelerator beam passed through a lens ground from some odd mineral he'd never seen before that resembled emerald or andradite. 

Jameson moved round to the front of the machine.

'I'm just checking the focussing coils. Have a look at those filters for me, would you,' he said.

Webb strolled around to the back of the machine out of sight. Jameson heard him fumbling about and flicking switches.

'You OK back there?' Jameson asked.

'Fine,' replied Webb.

Suddenly, the machine started up with a rising whine.

'What are you doing?' Demanded Jameson.

'Sorry,' Webb called out. 'Wait right there. I'll see if I can de-activate it.'

Jameson muttered in annoyance, but remained stooped precariously over the firing end of the machine and continued examining the coils. This turned out to be a mistake, because at that moment the whine picked up and he was hit full in the stomach with the green accelerator beam.

The first thing he noticed upon wakening was his pounding headache. The second thing he noticed was that apparently someone had been very busy. All the diagnostic equipment had been removed from the room, and the machine itself was missing a few components that he and Webb had recently fitted. Webb, in fact, was not in the room.

Jameson had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but found it hard to believe that someone could have so thoroughly cleaned out the room without waking him. As he staggered to his feet the thought occurred to him that Webb might have turned the beam on him on purpose, knocked him out, and sabotaged the project. To what end he did not know, but he would not find out here in this basement.

He took one last puzzled look around and headed for the lift and the outside world.

*          *          *


	2. Two

'And I nearly died… Clark?

'Clark!'

'Hmm?'

'I nearly died. You haven't been listening to a word I've said,' complained Chloe, 'have you?'

Clark began to focus on the real world. He and Chloe were sitting in the Talon, but for a moment he felt like he'd been somewhere else. His head felt fuzzy, as if his brains had been replaced with cotton wool. To cover his befuddlement he decided to ask what the music was that was playing over the PA.

'It's "Everything", by Lifehouse,' replied Chloe, irritably. 'Honestly, Clark. They play it in here like three times a week. What's wrong with you?'

'Sorry, Chloe,' apologised Clark, and smiled faintly. His head was beginning to clear, but he still felt odd. He began to wonder if someone had walked past with some meteor rocks. This happened occasionally, and was a hazard of living in Smallville. But this felt different. There was no pain or lethargy, just a kind of numbness and haziness. He chose to dismiss it as one of the symptoms of adolescence. Besides, the sensation was dissipating now. 'What were you talking about?'

'Just how I nearly died – when the Daily Planet called me up and asked… Oh, never mind. You're clearly not listening.' Chloe rolled her eyes and got up. 'I'll go tell Pete. I'm sure he'll be interested.' And with that she left, but with a mocking grin on her face.

Clark turned to watch her go. He knew she wasn't mad at him. She just liked to be listened to.

'Hey, Clark,' Lana had appeared next to him with a pair of coffee cups. Clark reflected that Lana would not have left like Chloe did, but that was what he liked about Chloe – she kept him on his toes.

'Hi, Lana,' he replied, and noticed she was looking out the window at Chloe's departure. 'You know how Chloe likes an audience,' he explained. 'I stopped listening for a couple of seconds.' He raised his hands in mock resignation.

'Of course. I'm sure she'll forgive you in time,' Lana grinned and nodded. She paused, and then looked down before saying, 'How's it going with you two, anyway?'

Clark looked directly at her and said, 'Better than I could have hoped for. We…'

But at that moment everyone was interrupted by a loud crash. A man had just thrown open the door forcibly and was striding up to the counter.

'Drinks, my friends, are on me!' He shouted.

Lana got up from the table.

'I'd better go see to this gentleman,' she said, and walked up to the counter.

The stranger pulled out a wodge of bills and slapped it down on the counter top.

'Drinks all round, please,' he demanded. 'I've just had a lucky encounter with a horse and I'm feeling remarkably generous.'

'Certainly, sir,' Lana replied, smiling. 'You're in luck. We also accept generous tips.'

Clark got up to leave. Caffeine didn't affect him much, but it was still possible to drink too much coffee. He waved goodbye to Lana and stepped out into the street…

…And walked straight into a worried looking man dressed in overalls.

'Hey, sorry kid,' the man said. 'Didn't see you there.' He contrived to look less worried, which involved stretching his face into a rictus of a grin. 'By the way,' he added. 'What day is it today?'

'Saturday,' replied Clark, a little disoriented.

'Saturday the what?'

'The third.'

'Ah, right… That makes perfect sense,' agreed the stranger, his expression clearly indicating that it did not. He thanked Clark and wandered off, looking around as if the entire world had turned itself upside down.

*          *          *

Lex walked out of the bank carrying a briefcase. He was uncomfortable walking around in the open with it, but he'd had to stop at the bank on his way home from the plant and didn't want to risk leaving it in the car. He looked around before fumbling in his pocket for the car keys. A man was approaching him purposefully.

'Hey, man,' the stranger said, holding up a cigarette. 'Got a light?'

Lex relaxed a little.

'Sorry, no,' he replied. 'I don't smoke.'

'Damn,' said the man, and punched him in the eye.

Lex staggered backwards, thinking that this was a rather extreme reaction to being denied a match, when another gentleman pushed him from behind and grabbed the suitcase. He recovered his balance to see both men running away in opposite directions, both carrying identical briefcases, and both wearing identical clothes. He gave chase to one briefly before giving up. Shit. They must have planned that attack. The second man had obviously been carrying another briefcase and had given it to the first man during the struggle to confuse Lex. But how could they possibly have known? Even Lex himself had not known that he would be going to the bank with that particular, vital briefcase until a few minutes before leaving the plant.

It was a mystery, and a remarkably annoying one at that. Damn it.

He threw himself into his car and floored the throttle, doing a handbrake turn in the middle of the road just for the sheer frustrated hell of it.

*          *          *


	3. Three

'Thanks, I'll try not to wear these out so quickly,' Clark said to the assistant.

'Don't worry about it,' the assistant replied, grinning. 'You're our best customer. You're sending my kids to college.'

Clark gave him an embarrassed smile, and tried to explain that farm work was tough on shoes. The assistant seemed to buy his explanation, so Clark bought the shoes.

Clark left the shop and turned down a side road. Cardboard boxes littered the gutter and steam poured out of an extractor fan on the side of a building. Leaning against a wall was a man wearing an overcoat. As Clark walked past, the man stepped out.

'Hey kid, got a light?' He said. 'Damn, hang on. I've used that one already today.'

'Sorry, I don't' replied Clark, still walking.

'Listen, kid,' insisted the man, manoeuvring himself in front of Clark. 'I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. Tomorrow afternoon at about…' He glanced at his watch, 'midday, in fact, you're gonna really piss me off.'

Clark looked at him quizzically. This man was clearly disturbed. In fact, as Clark looked more carefully, he recognised him as the man who had bought the drinks at the Talon that morning. He didn't have time to reflect on this, however, since at that moment the man pulled out a gun.

'I tell a lie,' said the man pleasantly. 'You're not gonna piss me off. Not this time around. In case you hadn't guessed, I'm gonna shoot you before you can inconvenience me again.'

Clark stood his ground. 'I wouldn't be so sure about that,' he said firmly.

The man pulled the trigger. A bullet made its way lazily up the barrel and emerged into sunlight. Clark considered ducking out of the way, grabbing the bullet, grabbing the gun, grabbing the man, throwing the man thirty feet, but finally decided on letting the bullet hit him. He hadn't been shot at for some time, and fancied the idea of watching the man's expression when the bullet bounced off his chest.

The bullet eventually reached him and, as expected, the man's face dropped like badly baked bread. He fired again in disbelief and Clark was just about to run forward and grab him when he heard a shout. He turned to see Lex and, curiously, the man he'd bumped into in the street earlier running towards him.

'Clark,' called Lex. 'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine, I'm fine. He missed me.' Clark turned back to face the gun-wielding maniac, but he had disappeared.

'Which way did he go?' insisted Lex's companion.

'I… I don't know,' stammered Clark, a little off-balance. 'I guess he went that way.' He pointed down the alley. The man ran past him and out of sight. Clark looked quizzically at Lex. 'What…?'

'I don't know, Clark.' Lex frowned. 'Something strange is going on. You sure you're OK?'

'I'm fine. Really. What happened to your eye?' Clark had buttoned up his jacket so no one would see the bullet holes in his shirt. He and Lex walked back out on to the high street.

'Listen. Let me drive you home. I'll tell you what happened to me on the way,' Lex offered. 'Don't worry, I'll drive carefully,' he added, after seeing Clark's expression.

'The man that shot at you,' Lex began, once they were in the car, 'Stole my briefcase outside the bank earlier. He had an identical accomplice. His name, apparently, is Justin Webb. The man you saw with me just now is Hugh Jameson. He has some connection to Webb. He found me in the Talon and told me he'd seen Webb attack me. He wouldn't give me much, but he said he's been tracking Webb since this morning. We were just leaving when we heard the gunshots. What did he want from you, Clark?'

'I don't know. He said I was going to do something to him tomorrow at midday and that he was going to stop me now, before I could.' Clark frowned. 'Lex. How could he know something like that?'

'I don't know, Clark.' Lex replied. 'I'd have said he was insane, but how could he have known about my briefcase?'

They pulled up outside the farmhouse and got out of the car.

'Was there anything important in it?' Asked Clark casually.

Lex paused for a moment then sighed, 'It probably doesn't matter if I tell you now. The news will be all over Smallville if that case is opened.' 

They walked into the barn and up the stairs.

'Ever heard the story of the Phoenix?' Asked Lex as they sat down.

'The mythical bird that rose reborn from its own ashes?' Clark somehow doubted Lex's briefcase doubled as a birdcage.

'That's the one. I want to be a phoenix, Clark.' Clark raised an eyebrow. Lex smiled. 'Hear me out. After the crash I felt like I had been reborn. But now I want to rise. I want to do great things, but I can't do them under my father's shadow.

'I'm starting my own company, Clark. LexCorp. You once told me you can't change the past. But you can change the future, and I intend to.'

'So in the briefcase were…'

'Business plans, logos, financial data. Yeah. I was planning on leaving my father out of the loop on this one.' He gave a hollow laugh and stroked his baldness. 'If he found out he would do everything in his power to see that I failed.'

'Why?'

'He only wants to witness my success if it bolsters his own glory,' Lex said resignedly. 'He would see the creation of my own company as both a challenge and a threat, which frankly,' he said with a twinkle in his eye, 'it is.'

*          *          *


	4. Four

It was Sunday morning and she was still sleepy. Chloe wandered into the Talon and, sure enough, there he was. Sitting innocently at a table as if nothing had happened.

'Clark,' she began, as she approached the table.

'Hey, Chloe. What's up?' Clark said cheerfully, then frowned. 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

'Maybe I just did,' she replied. Clark displayed no indication that he'd seen her earlier that morning. 'Clark, don't you remember coming to my house this morning?' 

'What?' Said Clark, puzzled. Hmm, she did remember he had said he probably wouldn't recall their conversation. That's why he'd asked her to remind him about his meeting. This was odd.

'Listen, Clark. You came to my house this morning looking like death warmed up. You told me to go to the Talon and ask you to meet a guy called Hugh Jameson at the warehouse over on Temp Street. You also said that you probably wouldn't remember telling me.'

Clark looked at her as if she'd just been speaking in Japanese.

'Chloe, I've been here for the last half hour, and I came here straight from doing my chores on the farm. I've been nowhere near your house.'

Chloe paused. It was beginning to seem like she'd have to clear another space on the wall of weird. An electric thrill travelled down her spine. 'Who could it have been then?'

'Tina Greer, perhaps?' Suggested Clark with a teasing grin.

'Clark! Be serious,' Chloe hit him on the arm. 'This is freaking me out. We need to find out what's going on here.'

'Hey, it could be her. Tell you what – I'll go meet this Jameson guy. You try to find out what happened to Tina, OK?'

'Sure, Clark. Whatever you say,' she said with exaggerated obedience. Clark got up to leave. 'Clark,' she called after him. 'Be careful, OK?'

'I'll be fine,' Clark smiled, and left. Chloe worried about him briefly, particularly since the other Clark had looked so ill. She doubted it was Tina Greer, but it would take just moments to find out if she was still in the secure hospital. After that, she had something else to do. She had neglected to mention that Clark's other self had made a point of warning her not to go anywhere near the warehouse. Indeed, he had seemed quite concerned about it. But Chloe Sullivan, intrepid reporter, was not to be hindered by anyone. Not even Clark, or his look-alike.

She made up her mind and left the Talon.

*          *          *

Clark arrived at the warehouse and approached the open doors. He made a note to run more carefully in future – he'd almost knocked down a cyclist on the way there.

'Hello?' He called. His voice echoed through the empty warehouse. A door sat innocuously in the far wall. Clark X-rayed it and saw a skeleton inching along the floor on its stomach. He ran to the door, found it was locked, and opened it anyway. The room behind it contained a desk, two swivel chairs, a filing cabinet and Hugh Jameson, now lying on his back gurgling blood.

'You!' Jameson gasped. 'How did you find me?'

Clark was taken aback. He had been hoping Jameson could tell him what was going on, but not only was he not expecting Clark; he was dying of bullet wounds.

'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'm gonna get you to a hospital.'

'No!' breathed the man. 'Too late… too late. Listen.' He hacked out a dreadful cough that caused fresh blood to stream from the hole in his abdomen. 'Justin Webb must be stopped.'

'How? What is he doing?'

'There are two of him,' Jameson wheezed. 'Later this afternoon he will travel back in time to yesterday morning.'

Clark boggled. Jameson tried to sit up, his face strained with urgency.

'You have to believe me! The man is dangerous.' Another coughing fit came and went. 'He sent me back first to test the process. You must stop him!'

'How?' Urged Clark again. 'Where is he?'

'I don't know where the later version of him is. He is the one that shot me. He could still be around here for all I know.'

Clark scanned the area. He was nowhere to be seen.

'But that is not important!' Jameson insisted. It's the earlier version we… you… must stop. Even now he is at Dr Hamilton's lab torturing him for information on that damn machine.'

'Machine? A time machine?' Clark hazarded.

'Yes!' Replied Jameson, sinking back to the floor. 'You must prevent him from getting the information he needs to use the machine. Then he will not be able to cause any of this mess.'

Clark could see he was getting weaker. 'What if I can't stop him?'

'You must! It is the only way. Unless…' He commenced another coughing fit. Clark waited for it to pass. 'Unless you were to use the machine yourself. That might work.' He looked thoughtful, as if contemplating the possibilities this presented.

Clark didn't like the sound of that, but felt a creeping inevitability about it. Chloe's message took on a new significance.

'Right,' he said. 'Where do I find this machine and how do I use it? Just in case.'

But Jameson had already uttered his last words. With a faint sigh he passed away.

Damn, thought Clark. He wondered briefly what to do with the body. Then considered that there might not even be a body if he got to Webb in time.

Hamilton's lab was on the other side of town. It would take even Clark some time to get there. He sped off immediately.

*          *          *

Chloe pulled up outside the warehouse and started snooping. She had confirmed that, as she suspected, Tina was exactly where she should be. So that left the mystery of Clark's doppelganger still to be solved. She entered the warehouse and looked around. The smell of mouldy cardboard and rat faeces conspired to produce an olfactory deterrent, but she persevered. The main area yielded nothing to a cursory inspection, but there was a door set into the far wall. It was ajar. She crept over to it and pushed it gently open, whereupon her heart leapt up and hit the base of her brain. 

Lying on the floor in front of her, in a congealing pool of its own blood, was the dead body of a man. She took a step back, fighting a wave of nausea. She'd always thought she'd be stronger than this, but seeing your first dead body is always a shocking experience, especially when you are not prepared. Her thoughts turned immediately to Clark. She prayed that he was not lying somewhere in a similar condition. As she began backing out of the room, the skin on the back of her neck started to prickle, a sure sign that someone was standing behind her. Sure enough she turned round to see a man holding a gun. He grinned at her.

'Well, aren't you just the slightest bit inconvenient,' he said condescendingly. Chloe tried to stammer a reply, but her vocal chords had seized. 'I'm afraid I can't let you tell anyone about this,' the man continued. 'It might make me look bad.' He raised the gun a little higher, and Chloe's knees began to buckle. A thin rivulet of cold sweat insisted on making its way down her back. The man paused to reflect on the deed he was about to commit.

'I suppose if I were a cartoon villain I might be inclined to tie you up and leave you somewhere conducive to rescue,' he mused. 'Unfortunately for you, this is the real world.'

He fired the gun, and Chloe's last thoughts were that it seemed a remarkably long time between him pulling the trigger and the sound of the blast reaching her ears.

*          *          *


	5. Five

Clark ground to a halt outside Hamilton's lab. He X-rayed the building and observed two figures. One was sitting at a desk; the other was leaning over it. As Clark watched, the seated figure waved its arms aggressively and the other one pulled out a gun. Clark waited no longer. He shot forward into the building and almost fell over. Between him and the two gentlemen, now revealed to be Dr Hamilton and Justin Webb, was a vast collection of meteor rocks. The two men looked at Clark in surprise, Webb still pointing the gun at Hamilton's head.

'Aha,' called Webb across the room. 'I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up. You're late. I have everything I need from this man.'

Clark tried to advance upon him, but the meteor rocks pushed him back. He watched helplessly as Webb shot Hamilton in the shoulder and then in the leg.

'I may need your help later, so try not to die on me,' he said. 'Hey, kid! Mind if I shoot you too?' Webb laughed, and waved the gun in Clark's direction. Clark started backing away. He had no idea if a bullet could kill him when he was weakened by meteor rock exposure, and he was not inclined to find out.

Webb pulled the trigger and a bullet cauterised the air above Clark's ear. He'd barely managed to get out of the way in time. Webb tried to shoot him again, but the gun was empty. Clark tried to advance upon him, but was having difficulty standing.

'Damn,' said Webb. 'It seems I won't be killing you just yet. But before you come any closer I would point out that even now your young lady friend is getting herself into a bit of trouble.'

Clark froze.

'What do you mean?' He demanded.

'Oh, nothing,' taunted Webb. 'Only that she's snooping around the warehouse looking for that fool Jameson. With any luck she'll end up in a similar condition,' he smirked.

Clark felt something buckle inside of him. He tried to glare at Webb before staggering back out of the door. He felt his energy returning and began to run back across town. The meteor rocks had affected him, though; he could not quite reach his full speed. He just prayed it would be enough to reach her in time.

He finally reached the warehouse, breathing heavily. He saw a shape on the floor by the office door.

And for the first time in his life Clark felt genuinely cold. Chilled to the very marrow. The microseconds in which he stood there staring felt like hours. The world became silent, filled with the sound of anguish. The warehouse, or maybe just his mind, lurched and spun.

Finally he dragged himself back into the world and ran over to her. Chloe's chest was soaked in crimson, but she was still breathing. Barely. He shuddered a sigh of cautious relief and picked her up as gently as he dared. She wore a frown of mild puzzlement, but otherwise displayed no signs of consciousness. 

As he turned to face the exit he thought he caught a figure moving in the corner of his eye. He turned to stare, but it disappeared. Well, if it were Webb he would have to wait. Clark's immediate concern was for Chloe's welfare. He ran as fast as he could to the hospital, trying not to jog her.

*          *          *

They had operated on her for an hour, during which Clark had waited in a daze outside the operating theatre. During this time Clark could not have cared less if Webb went round and single-handedly shot the entire population of Smallville.

Chloe was now in a room, hooked up to a ventilator. The doctors had told Clark that she was in a coma and the outcome did not look at all good. The machines were keeping her alive.

Lana and Pete and many others had come and gone, and Clark was now sitting by her bedside with his head in his hands. Through the turmoil in his mind the hospital radio filtered through. It was playing "Haemorrhage", by Fuel. Clark let the music wash through his pained being and reflected upon the poetic irony of the lyrics.

_"Don't fall away,_

_And leave me to myself._

_Don't fall away,_

_And leave love bleeding_

_In my hands,_

_In my hands again._

_Leave love bleeding_

_In my hands,_

_In my hands_

_Love lies bleeding…_

_And I wanted_

_You to turn away._

_You don't remember_

_But I do…"_

Clark began to emerge from his torpor and came to a decision. In reality, of course, he'd already made it. When Jameson had told him about the machine, he'd known that he would have to use it. But he'd tried so hard to avoid it; he had a bad feeling that it would do him no good. After witnessing all the crazy events the meteor rocks seemed to induce over the last year he felt sure that this machine would be intimately connected with them.

Yet now there was no choice. The risk to himself was negligible compared to what Chloe had already suffered, not to mention the other people Webb had shot.

He bent over and kissed Chloe on her forehead. Then he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and left.

*          *          *


	6. Six

Clark reached the warehouse and started looking around. He figured the machine must be around here somewhere, since both Jameson and Webb had been lurking earlier. He stood in the entrance of the building and scanned the area. Nothing.

He wondered if he'd made a mistake. What if it were back at Hamilton's lab? He'd never be able to get past all those meteor rocks. No – it must be here. What other significance could Webb and Jameson's presence have?

There was another building next door. Clark checked it out. A metal door gleamed in one wall. Clark X-rayed it to reveal an elevator shaft going down into the earth. He entered the lift and it began its descent. Upon arriving at the bottom the doors swished open to reveal a laboratory scattered with equipment. A huge machine trailing pipes and wires and shaped like a B-movie industrial-sized ray gun sat like a grotesquely fat glutton being drip-fed his latest meal.

Clark moved out of the lift warily, after making sure no one was in the lab. He could not sense any meteor rocks yet, which was a good sign. He made his way circumspectly towards the machine. It looked fiendishly complicated. Clark looked around it for a control panel and found two plaques fixed to the side. One said, "Prediction is very difficult, especially about the future – Niels Bohr." The other, more usefully, said, "WARNING: NEVER charge coils before engaging targeting beam."

From this Clark managed to locate the targeting beam control and switch it on, before engaging the switch marked "Charge Coils". The machine hummed into life and Clark congratulated himself on his outlandish piece of luck. An LED display winked at him, and he noticed it was counting down from ten. He manoeuvred himself in front of the pointed end of the machine and waited. As the hum of the machine increased in pitch and intensity he became aware of a green glow emanating from deep within the complexity of the machine. He began to feel nauseous, but endeavoured to stand his ground. Eventually the countdown reached zero, and the hum stopped. Immediately a burst of green light erupted from the tip of the gun apparatus and hit Clark heavily in the chest with the force of a truck. He felt like his torso was being torn apart atom by atom. The burning, searing pain escalated to an unimaginable height within a second and everything became black.

Upon waking, the outrageously white-hot pain and mind-numbing ache paralysing his body were… just a memory.

He felt fine.

He flexed his joints and received no warning signals. He stood up and didn't fall back down. That was odd. He could have sworn he was being torn apart by that poisonous green beam. Even if it hadn't killed him, he had still expected it to cause him some damage – after all, Chloe had mentioned that he'd looked sick, hadn't she?

He pulled himself together and walked back into the lift. The equipment scattered around the lab was different; some of it was missing and some of it had been moved. He chose to assume this meant he had travelled back in time, but he had no idea how far. His watch, of course, was now wrong; but he remembered seeing a clock on the wall in the office next door. The lift ascended and he made his way outside. The position of the sun indicated that it was now morning, and after x-raying the office he ascertained the time was 9:35. That left the day to be determined. He decided against following Jameson's example, and headed into town to find a newspaper.

He found a newsstand and checked the date. It was Sunday.

The same god damn day.

What the hell use was that? He'd travelled back a matter of hours. He fumed – at himself, at Webb, at Jameson, and finally at himself again.

It looked like he had his work cut out. It was getting close to the time when Chloe would be meeting him in the Talon – he'd better go and tell her to meet him there.

  Hang on - he paused, and chewed this thought over in his head. The only reason he was going to tell her to tell him to meet Jameson was because she'd told him that he'd told her to tell him to meet Jameson.

He carefully stored this thought away in a dark corner of his brain and attempted to ignore it. If he weren't careful something like that would keep him occupied all day. Chloe's house was not close, so Clark made sure no one was around before breaking into a run.

Halfway there he slowed down, and not by choice. He was feeling tired. His breathing was becoming laboured. He had to jog the rest of the way, which was worrying; it seemed like the beam exposure was catching up with him somehow. He wondered if it was just a delayed effect or if it would keep getting gradually worse. No time to worry about it though – he had too many other concerns on his mind.

Eventually he reached Chloe's house and paused outside to catch his breath. His heart was pounding, and he had to calm himself before knocking on the door. It opened and Chloe stood before him. 

His stomach dropped and his chest tightened. For a brief moment he thought she was carrying a bunch of meteor rocks, but then he realised it was his own natural reaction to seeing her alive and well.

'Chloe,' he managed. 'Thank god.'

'Clark?' Chloe queried. 'What's wrong? You look sick.'

'I can't explain right now. Listen, Chloe. I need you to do something for me.'

'OK?' Chloe said warily.

'I need you to go to the Talon and meet me there.' He tried to think of an easy way to explain what was going on, but he couldn't. 'I probably won't remember coming round here, but you have to tell me to go meet a guy called Hugh Jameson at the warehouse on Temp street. OK?'

Chloe looked quizzically at him, as if trying to work out which part of his request to take issue with first. Finally she said, 'Clark, what the hell?'

Clark hung his head in impotent frustration. 'Please, Chloe. Just meet me in the Talon, OK? I don't have time to explain.'

'And tell you to meet this Hugh Jameson guy at the warehouse?' She finished, still clearly puzzled.

'Yes,' Clark said with relief. 'Please. Thank you.'

'When?'

Clark looked at his watch, which he'd reset to the correct time. 'Now, please. Don't worry – I'll be there by the time you arrive.'

'Well, OK,' said Chloe reluctantly. 'But I'll expect a better explanation – any explanation at all – when I get there.'

'Sure, Chloe,' lied Clark. A thought suddenly hit him. 'And Chloe – Whatever you do, don't go to the warehouse. Please. Do not go to the warehouse. It may not be safe.' He gave her his most sincerely concerned face.

Chloe seemed to sense the urgency of his request, and agreed not to go. She went back inside to gather her things and Clark left, reluctantly. He wanted to spend more time with her while she was still all right, but he needed to get to Webb before it was too late again. He wondered where he might be able to find him, and decided the warehouse might be a good bet.

He was still finding it hard to run with any speed, and was beginning to develop a headache. If he were human he might have compared the feeling to waking up with a hangover and knowing it was going to get worse as the day progressed. He struggled on and reached the warehouse, but there was nobody around. Damn, he thought. That left him with two options. He could wait for Webb to show up and try to shoot Jameson, or he could make his way to Hamilton's lab and see if he could stop Webb from there. 

The problem with the first option was that the Webb who would be turning up here would be the second Webb. He might stop him killing Jameson and Chloe if he was lucky, but the first Webb would still be around to cause trouble.

The problem with the second option was that Hamilton's lab was not only full of meteor rocks but was all the way over the other side of town. Clark was really not sure he could make it that far; he was feeling weaker and more breathless by the minute. 

He looked around desperately for inspiration and, as luck would have it, spotted an old bicycle lying in a skip in the courtyard. He retrieved it and managed to bend the frame and wheels back into a serviceable shape. It was a long time since he'd had to ride a bike, but he managed not to fall off.

It was hard going, but he still had enough energy to give a few vehicles a run for their money on the way across town. At one point he was almost knocked down by something absurdly fast flashing past him in the opposite direction, but he chose to ignore it.

He reached the lab and this time approached it from the back. He was sweating like a pig now, and swinging between extremes of hot and cold. His limbs were shaking, and he staggered over to a window and slumped to the floor. Every beat of his racing heart pounded on the inside of his skull. He strained his ears to listen for any sounds inside the lab.

'He doesn't know anything about this, does he?'

'Who? Who doesn't know what?'

'Don't play innocent with me, friend. Lex Luthor knows nothing about your little project, doesn't he? And after the trouble I took to obtain his briefcase, as well. I bet he'd be very interested to find out what his precious particle accelerator was really being used for.'

Clark recognised the voices as belonging to Webb and Hamilton. He'd been hoping that he'd arrived before Webb, so he could stop him before he entered the lab; but he was too late again. Clark could feel the weight of the meteor rocks pressing down upon him even through the wall. There was no way he could get inside to do anything.

He cursed himself again. What could he possibly do now? He could achieve nothing here now that Webb was safely inside Hamilton's lab. Clark's earlier self would be here soon, and then everything would happen all over again.

He tried to think, but his brain was beginning to cloud. If he could do nothing here, he might at least be able to prevent Chloe from getting shot again. He made up his fatigued mind and staggered back onto the bike. It felt like he was trying to cycle through treacle, yet he persevered. His limbs grew heavier with every turn of the pedals, yet he persevered. The pounding in his head threatened to crack his skull, yet still he persevered.


	7. Seven

It felt like hours, but eventually he reached the road with the warehouse. He practically fell off the bike and spent a few moments desperately trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep himself upright.

And then he heard the shot.

The sound seemed to reverberate far longer than it should, during which time Clark was frozen to the ground.

No! God Damn it, No! How could he be too late again? It simply could not be possible.

He fell to his knees in despair, and saw a man strolling out of the warehouse entrance. It was Webb. Clark's hackles rose.

'Hey!' He yelled, but it came out as more of a croak.

Webb turned to look at him. His eyes widened and he sprang into a run. Clark lurched to his feet and began to pursue him. He barely got a hundred yards before collapsing with exhaustion. Webb disappeared round a corner out of sight. Clark rolled about on the ground in misery for a moment before picking himself up and walking back into the warehouse. 

He knelt in the doorway and gazed upon Chloe's slumped body. Even as the blood seeped from her chest he felt the life leach from his own body. There was nothing he could do to help her. He could barely stand on his own feet now. Pain and sorrow competed for his attention. His mind whirled. Lex's words came back to haunt him;

"You can't change the past, Clark. But you can change the future."

Well, Lex was right about one thing, it seemed. You cannot change the past. Everything he'd done had already happened. Every single thing had happened exactly the way it had before. He looked again at Chloe, and even the damn song from the hospital radio taunted him:

_"And I wanted_

_You to turn away._

_You don't remember_

_But I do,_

_You never even tried."_

Why had she come here? He'd told her it would be dangerous… and… of course – that was why she'd come. He tortured himself some more by thinking that if he hadn't told her to stay away she might not have been inclined to come at all.

He looked at his watch in frustration and realised that his earlier self would be showing up soon. He staggered into the corner of the warehouse out of sight. Soon enough his other self came in, crumpled upon seeing Chloe, and picked her up. He looked briefly in Clark's direction, and Clark had to dive out of the way. The two figures raced off and Clark was left to contemplate his fate. 

He wearily ran his fingers through his hair, and was horrified to bring away a clump of greasy strands. He looked in dismay at his hand, covered in hair and, worryingly, sore patches. He rolled up his sleeve to find more sores welling up; symptoms, he guessed, of acute radiation poisoning. It began to occur to him that the effects of the beam were getting worse the nearer he got to the time he'd used it, as if the consequences of exposure were happening backward. He wondered what would happen when the time finally caught up with him.

He tried to strain the thick soup of his brain into something more useful. He had to do something. There must be something he could do. But what? He could not effect any change from where he was. He was about to curl up in despair when an engaging thought worked its way into the sludge of his brain.

What if he destroyed the machine? What if he could get the machine to overload and by some arcane process destroy itself?

Well, it was all he had left. He heaved himself to his feet and dragged himself over to the lift in the adjacent building. He shuddered as the lift went down, and rolled out of it at the bottom. He lay on the floor gathering his thoughts before stumbling over to the machine again. He charged the coils without engaging the targeting beam. The machine began to hum and shudder.

There. It was done. He staggered into the lift and collapsed on the floor. The journey to the surface seemed to take an hour. When the doors finally opened he barely had enough strength to roll out onto the cold concrete floor.

            The pain bore down on him like an immense weight. His bones were as cold as ice, yet his skin was on fire. He could no longer move his limbs.

            As he lay there helpless, he felt a tremor in the earth. He prayed it was the dreadful machine blowing itself up, but it could equally have been his own body shuddering in anguish.

            He began to accept that it was too late for himself. He had left most of his remaining hair in the lift, and the burning sores on his skin were not healing. All he had left was the hope that he had undone the trouble that Justin Webb had caused. As he lay there contemplating his fate, he felt the air around him moving. It seemed that it was being sucked out of the building to be replaced with… different air. Of course, he might be getting confused. Maybe it was just his soul being sucked out of his body.

            Lex's phoenix flew into his head and flapped about, leaving his thoughts eddying in its wake.

            He became aware of someone murmuring in his ear, but it was too far away. He tried to listen, but the world was getting heavier.

            'Clark?'

            Was that someone calling him, or was it his own brain trying to remind him who he was?

            'Clark!'

            It was a voice, but he could no longer see. He recognised it. It belonged to a girl. What was her name? Allison? No. He didn't even know an Allison.

            Chlex? No. He was getting confused. But it began with a "Ch".

            Chloe…? Chloe! Of course. But how could she be here? She was still in hospital dying of gun shot wounds.

            Then it dawned on him.

            She had died. She was calling to him from somewhere else. Well, he'd be joining her soon.

            Even as the world faded away her voice grew stronger. He tried to reply, but it was too late.

            He died with her name on his lips.

*          *          *


	8. Eight

'Clark? … Clark!'

'Hmm?'

'I nearly died. You haven't been listening to a word I've said,' complained Chloe, 'have you?'

Clark began to focus on the real world. He and Chloe were sitting in the Talon, but for a moment he felt like he'd been somewhere else. His head felt fuzzy, as if his brains had been replaced with cotton wool. To cover his befuddlement he decided to ask what the music was that was playing over the PA.

_          And then he changed his mind._

            Instead, he gazed across the table at Chloe and listened to the music.

_          'You're all I want, you're all I need. _

_You're everything. Everything._

_          'And how can I stand here with you, _

_And not be moved by you?_

_                   'Would you tell me, _

_How could it be, any better…_

_                   'Any better than this?'_

            Indeed, thought Clark. He was feeling better already.


End file.
